Unforgivable
by angelic1hp
Summary: I don't think I could explain it to you. I could try but I doubt you'd understand. It's not easy to explain unless you've done it, you've felt it. Hermione explains her descent into madness, murder and the Dark Arts in the final confrontation with Harry
1. The End

Unforgivable

I don't think I could explain it to you. I could try but I doubt you'd understand. It's not easy to explain unless you've done it, you've felt it.

Felt the blood, felt the tears, felt the eyes pouring into you as they beg for mercy. Mercy that's never shown. Not by me anyway.

The feeling is explicable. From when you draw your wand, to saying _those_ words, to watching them hit the ground in a crumpled mess with a dull _thunk._

_Avada Kedavra_

_Avada Kedavra_

_Avada Kedavra_

_// The three flanking members of the Order that had just arrived fell to their knees, then tumbled like dominos to the dusty floor. Harry looked around him, dumbstruck. He thought about checking them but realised that would be in vain. She never misses. He looked to see where their wands had fallen, hoping he could use them. Unfortunately, she had the same thought and set fire to them.//_

Best things come in threes. Like you, Ron and I. You had no idea back then. Not back when I was the intelligent, talented, bossy third of the Trio. Ever the good girl. You all had no idea. Not even Dumbledore. Who would ever suspect? The sensible witch with her head in a book. No harm ever came from reading books.

It's the sensible ones you have to watch out for. Believe me now or never.

It grew into an obsession back in those days. I read. I came across dark terms while researching for the Order. I cross referenced. Cross referenced more. Cross referenced so far I didn't know how I'd got there. It started with the restricted section, then buying books via Owl, then Borgin and Burkes. The more I read, the more I was disgusted and strangely fascinated.

It was never about power. It was about love.

Then, there was something in me that enjoyed it. There was danger in even reading these passages and books, holed up in a corner, hoping no one would catch me. Sweaty palms, racing heart, veins surging with adrenaline. If it was like that to _read_ about it, what was it like to say those words, cause that devastation, take that life? A small part which festered and expanded. Now, it's consumed.

_Crucio_

_Crucio_

_Crucio_

_// Harry fell against the wall and curled in the corner. He twisted and buckled; He couldn't stop a scream escaping his throat as the curse hit him square in the chest. His former classmate, former best friend, former lover grabbed a fistful of his brown hair and dragged up to kneeling. Her nails raked across his cheek.//_

Feel it... Feel that? That's real. That's real. It's not unicorns and Flobberworms and flying around on a broom trying to throw a silly ball through a hoop.

I wish you wouldn't look at me like that, you know I'm capable of this torture. Try not to look so shocked. You know I'm capable.

_// She threw his head back and he fell on the cold floor. He squeezed his eyes shut and tried to think. Tried to think of a way out. He couldn't hold onto his concentration as the absurdity of the situation hit him. This was Hermione. This was her, standing over him, poised to kill. This was his Hermione. How could he have let her go this far?//_

I'm sure you knew from the day I cursed Malfoy. _Sectumsempra. _Poor fool. Twice cursed, twice he failed to block it. No doubt his father would have something to say about being cut open by a Mudblood. A Mudblood spilling his Pure Blood all over the grass as he howled in agony, crying for his mother.

/His beautiful mother. Thighs that were creamy like milk and eyes that cut like glass. It only took one look from her to make me come harder than I ever had before. Her nails raking my back, teeth biting my nipple. The most erotic memory of my life was an hour in which I had secretly stolen her from Lucius. I left a love bite on that thigh. Marring her flawless skin. Claiming her. Giving the Malfoys an awkward conversation in their future. I didn't care./

Poor Draco. I was sure he would die from the blood loss. I watched, fascinated by the consequences of my curse. Well, Severus's curse, but he came not to mind my borrowing it from him.

/He didn't mind. I was twenty five and infiltrating the inner circle. Draco's wounds had never healed. Someone asked him about them at a dinner party. He glared at me and quietly explained. I caught Severus staring at me with such admiration. Who ever thought, in their or my wildest dreams, that Severus Snape would look at me like that. From then on, I started to notice little touches he would give me. Brushing my arm, resting his hand on my back. He was falling in lust with me. He was twice my age. But that certainly did not stop me from giving him something to fantasise about/

But I know now that I didn't hide my pleasure at Draco's pain very well. Over the years I learned to disguise it. A necessity, you understand. But then, my eyes danced in the sight of his blood. Then I caught your eye. I could see myself reflected in your eyes. Bloodthirsty. Hungry for a kill. In your eyes I was cruel.

If Draco hadn't had the strength to Disapparate, I might have finished him off.

That's what you thought wasn't it? Correctly, of course.

_//Yes, thought Harry. But he did not dare say it out loud. Part of him still wanted to save her as opposed to kill her. Be the hero, not the murderer.//_

A small nagging feeling of doubt tugging on your sleeve, day in, day out. You knew I was growing in power. You remember the day of my first kill. Goyle. Yes, it was in defence of myself and the Order but that didn't detract from it.

You had a policy of 'Catch, not kill' when it came to the Death Eaters. Goyle foolishly jumped out of his hiding place, it startled me. The words had slipped out of my mouth before I could think twice. I doubt he even knew it was his former classmate that pulled the metaphorical trigger. The words, they wanted to be spoken. They desired to.

I was shook up, or I pretended to be. You and Ron rushed to my side, telling me it was for the best, that I had no other choice. I cried as you both enveloped me.

In truth, my whole body was reverberating from the curse. In that moment, I had just become addicted to something powerful. The hand that had been hovering over me for the past few months suddenly closed in and clutched me tightly in its grip. I couldn't breathe. My chest tightened. There was no escaping. I was overwhelmed. So overwhelmed, I started to cry. Not out of sadness or shock, but of happiness. Of relief. I'd finally chosen my fork in the road. I'd beaten the conscience in me into submission and did what my heart greedily desired.

You both held me, and whispered words of comfort. On the way back, I caught you looking at me. You were looking at me like the Killer I was and am.

You were afraid.

Thats what drove you from me. That's why stopped you coming to my room at night. That's why stopped you inviting me into your bed. You couldn't sleep next to a killer. Couldn't allow a killer to taint you.

Your trust in me waned but your desire increased. As much as you hoped what you suspected was wrong, the prospect of it excited you. That's why you let me fuck you at 12 Grimmauld Place, down Knockturn Alley and under the invisibility cloak in the same room with the Minister for Magic as he gave a speech.

_//Harry remembers, Oh God, does he remember. He wishes he could go back. Wished he could save her and hold her, like he used to in school.//_

I know you couldn't help it. I know now you blame yourself and wish you'd talked to someone, tried to help me before it was too late. It was always too late. There was no going back, no redemption.

I'm not trying to justify it to you, this is just how I got here.

Really, it's more fun on this side. You should join us.

When I say 'us' I'm not sure what I mean. I certainly don't mean Voldemort. Big overture, little show. I never had any interest in following him. But by seeking out his followers, I could seek out my own kind.

His bravado, his Pride. His love of ritual and hatred of Mudbloods annoyed me greatly. Who was he to say he was better than I was? I reminded him rather publicly that he himself was no Pure Blood. Hardly close. Muggle for a father, wasn't it? And damn near Squib for a mother as well? Oh what a proud heritage, you fucking hypocrite.

He told me I had effectively signed my death warrant. I knew different.

I challenged him, in the company of his followers and in the middle of the War the Heros were never going to win.

I killed him. Not for right or the 'Good' side or to be a Heroine.

But because I wanted to.

The more powerful the Wizard, the more power the kill gives you.

The rush, the surge, the charge, the pleasure.

You've never killed anyone, have you? So you don't understand. You don't get what power the Killing Curse gives you. I understand. You just don't know. And I wish you could feel it. The only person you've ever truly wanted to kill is dead by my hand. Maybe this would be you, instead of me. Maybe you would have been pointing a wand at me while I lay broken and defeated on the floor.

Do you feel betrayed? Or upstaged?

Wasn't this your moment?

Wasn't this foreseen?

It didn't say anything about the 'sidekick' in the prophecy, did it? Well this 'sidekick' has moved far beyond you. And your fucking destiny. Voldemort's gone, because he couldn't handle a girl. This was _my_ destiny, Harry. I have always been smarter than you, faster than you, more talented than you. I don't know why you didn't see it coming. Did you think I'd roll over and play dumb while you faced your final battle? That I'd take a supporting role?

How presumptuous of you.

It's your failing, Harry, not mine.

Yours.

Stop looking at me like I'm your friend and I'll let you go with a hug and a 'see you later'.

There are no happy endings, Potter.

I killed Ron. And Ginny. Before they'd even suspected. And you know, killing them was almost nothing. Though I did feel the absence between my thighs. Not with Ron. What I had with him was brief and unsatisfying. But Ginny... Oh I know how you loved Ginny, Harry Potter.

Does it hurt you that every night you chastely kissed her before bed, she would come to my room and I would make her scream like you never would? I would lick her, suck her, kiss her where you never would. She would kiss me like she was dying and inhale the breath of new life after she'd come.

_//Harry saw spots before his eyes, his face flushed at her lies. Lies, lies, lies. All lies. Not Ginny, not Ginny. Ginny was his. He leapt forward like a panther. So close to grabbing her and his body was slammed against the wall as it was hit by a jet of light.//_

_Crucio!_

How dare you try and strike me when I'm having a conversation with you!

Don't worry, Harry, I didn't love her. That's what counts, isn't it? That's what gives you your power? Love?

I killed her as she slept. She didn't feel any pain. In those days I couldn't of faced her eyes, I suppose. She gave me a kiss before dying and told me she loved me. She curled up and submitted to sleep. Never to wake again.

_//The anger rose up inside Harry again as he tried once more to attack her. Once again, he was struck down.//_

_Sectumsempra!_

Stay down there, Harry, in your pain and anger and blood. Wonderful curse, isn't it? Vital life blood draining.

_Finite Incantatem._

Can't have you bleeding to death before I'm done, Harry. That wouldn't do.

All you have to do is ask me, Harry. All you have to do.

How very martyr like, dying silently for the cause. I'll show mercy to you, Harry. I'll show mercy.

By killing you.

No more Cruciatus. If you wish to say something, now would be the time.

_//Harry gritted his teeth and got to his feet and pulled himself up to his full height. He snorted, grunted and wiped his bloody nose on his sleeve in vain. His clothes were soaked through with blood._

_"Bitch," he breathed. She smiled genially at him, almost looking soft and Hermione-like again.//_

Fair enough.

_Imperio!_

Come give me one last kiss, Harry.

_// He tried to fight it but in his heart he didn't want to. He had missed her skin, her smell, her lips. The comfort that it used to bring. When the name 'Hermione' had inspired such feelings of familiarity and love. He walked to her and breathed deeply before placing his lips over hers. His last kiss was a proper one, warm and full of unfulfilled desire and hope. He wished she could feel what he feels with this last kiss. Wished that could change her mind before it was too late._

_All too soon it was over. She had pushed him back and he sprawled on the ground like a the gangly teenage boy he had once been. It was only then that he felt the tears sting his eyes. The Boy Who Lived started to cry his last.//_

I'll never forget how you taste.

I'll miss you, Harry. I don't love you anymore, but I admire you. I admire how you always try. I almost wish you could still keep trying. But that would be cruel.

Secretly, you're grateful for this. You want death. You wouldn't have let me find you here otherwise. You want to be swallowed in it. And, if I can guess correctly, you believe in some sort of afterlife. Heaven perhaps? Where you'll be reunited with your parents, Dumbledore, the Weasleys and hundreds of others I've killed. I'm sure you'll enjoy your fantasy, Harry.

Give Ginny a kiss for me, would you?

_//He couldn't even become incensed by her parting words. He just stared at her and refused to wipe away the furious tears streaming down his cheeks. He wanted to beg her, he wanted to scream at her. He knew it would make no difference.//_

_Avada Kedavra!_

The light left Harry's eyes as he slumped against the ground. She stuck her foot under his body and turned him over. His face was devoid of any expression.

She crouched. She pushed the hair out of his eyes.

She sighed.

She had never felt this way after a kill. Was this the end? Would the Order fall?

She really didn't care. That was it. All the people she had loved, dead. The tightening in her chest slackened. _Over._

She hopes he did believe in Heaven.


	2. Malfoy Manor : Prequel

It's much more interesting watching someone when they don't know you're there. People are so unrestrained, so uninhibited when they are alone; especially the people with something to prove and a reputation to honour. The freedom of solace can be quite comforting. Studying that solace can tell you more about a person than all the years gone before.

The youngest Malfoy studies himself in his mirror, that look of concentration on his face which makes him look less like Lucius' pride and joy and more like a constipated rabbit. He doesn't see me yet.

So I watch. I watch as he tries to tie his now jaw-length hair into a black ribbon: A beautiful attempt to imitate his father. He fails miserably. Frustrated, he crushes it in the palm of his small hands.

"You really do look quite like him, Draco," I murmur sweetly. Startled, he jumps up and spins around. His face is ashen, almost grey; almost as grey as his father's eyes. He clearly did not expect to see me here.

"Granger," he says unevenly, revealing thick layers of panic and anxiety in his voice. He eyes the door, checking if anyone else was accompanying me. Or perhaps that is what he hoped. He feels around his waist for his wand holster and, to his great dismay, finds it empty.

"Hermione will do just fine," I tell him, sweeping forward and standing close to him. He does look quite beautiful for a male; his dress robes accentuate his figure nicely. They make him appear grander than he is.

His entire body is covered, leaving it all to the imagination. My imagination, however, is recalling where those curse scars are placed. _My_ curse scars. I can not see any of the souvenirs I left on his flesh from years ago. It bothers me slightly, I have to say.

Re-clothing him in my mind, I notice a startling omission from his formal attire. One piece of the jigsaw remains unplaced; his bow tie lies around his shoulder untended to. "Draco, Draco," I sigh. He is so close to me I can feel his body involuntarily shudder.

I can smell the fear seeping through his pores.

I pull his bow tie tight around his neck and set about remedying this fault in his almost immaculate appearance. He swallows thickly, clearly not happy having me in such close proximity.

"What are you doing here?" he asks me in strangled voice.

"Don't worry, I'll play nicely," I reassure him, looping the tie through. My fingertips graze his neck and I can feel the blood simmering below the surface. Blood twice spilled by magic. I look into his cold, grey eyes, trying to discover if there is, in fact, a soul buried underneath all that silk and flesh.

I pull the tie tightly and admire my finesse.

"You have your father's eyes Draco. Not your mothers. I expected that you would have hers, for some reason," I tell him simply, brushing a long strand of white blond hair from his face.

"Why? Because _he_ does" he snorts, separating the tie from his throat with two fingers.

"_His_ eyes will soon be colder than yours," I smirk at him. I push him down to sit in the chair in front of his mirror. Unsurprisingly, he obeys. Fear and blood can do things to a man. "Now let's see what we can do about your hair. Can't have you being a disgrace to your mother and father. Not with all those important people down there. They've been asking where you were, Draco."

He sulks at his reflection as I tease my fingers through his soft, thick hair.

"Beautiful, beautiful," I murmur, staring back at him in the mirror, gently scraping his scalp. I don't know if it's their pure blood that allows the Malfoys their innate beauty or if it's the years of wealthy comfort. "Like Narcissa," I hiss in his ear. A shiver travels down in neck to the base of his being.

This boy in front of me, twenty four years old and not yet a man. I would like to dismantle this boy. Pull him down to his parts and discover him. Draco Malfoy; so much promise but still wound tight to his mothers apron strings. His love for her is palpable every time I mention her. He does want to be his father more than I think he realises. He is jealous of Lucius; Jealous of his place amongst the Death Eaters, jealous of his easy charm, jealous of the fact that Lucius so completely owns his mother.

One day Draco will kill Lucius, or die trying. This I am sure of.

"How did you even get here?" he asks my reflection moodily. "I know of everything you've done. But still... My father wouldn't allow a Mudblood—"

I pull his hair back sharply, forced his neck to bend over the chair. He shrieks and holds his head. Tears prick the corners of his eyes. He looks up at me, imploring for his release.

"That, Draco, is something I just won't tolerate," I tell him calmly. "You should be quite aware about my feelings on that word. Do you wish your pretty, pure blood spilled again or shall we continue this reunion of ours?"

"Sorry," he mutters, gritting his teeth through the pain. I yank his head back harder this time. "Sorry!" he yelps.

I smile. I believe he understands me. I slowly ease his head back up to position and resume fingering his locks with the same gentleness as before.

"Just so you are aware, Voldemort asked me here." I feel him shudder at the mere mention. I lean over him; aware his eyes would travel down my corset, and gently take the black ribbon from his fist. I smooth it out, trying to remove the creases. "I've spoken to him at great length recently. He seems very pleased with my efforts, or shall I say successes?" I smirk, rubbing the ribbon through my fingers.

"Great," Draco mutters, rolling his eyes discreetly.

"He is less so impressed with your effort. To clarify, that's your _lack_ of effort."

I loop the black ribbon under his hair, admiring the beautiful contrast of the colours.

"Doesn't seem like I need to," Draco responds sullenly. "You're picking off your old friends one by one. Not much to do then, eh?"

I am amused at this. "My friends, yes."

"You killed my friend, so there doesn't seem any reason why you wouldn't start on your own lot," he mutters under his breath.

"Gregory Goyle." I let the memory of that day flow back to me. My first kill. The day I gave in and stopped pretending what and who I really was. "Come now, Draco, you and I know perfectly well that you don't have any friends: Goons, henchmen, but not friends. I don't know why you feel you need the brute strength of others as it doesn't seem like you're doing too badly."

He draws a deep breath as my hand travels down his bicep to his forearm where I know the Dark Mark is inked. He allows me to roll up his cuff to reveal this stain on his flesh. Just below it, I see _my_ mark. One of the many curse scars that blemish his milky skin. I scrape my fingernail over the now shiny bump and dig in deep.

A strangled noise escapes his throat. He bites his lip and turns away. I ease my nail away as he sighs. I have reason to believe he quite enjoyed that.

"You know, you and my Aunt Bellatrix would get on well." He tries to be casual but his flesh is still stinging. At great pain, he avoids rubbing it knowing I'll assume it as a sign of weakness. That is something I know Draco fears: For his weaknesses to be publicly exposed.

"I believe we've met. I did like her. Passionate woman."

I lightly trace the outline of the skull and the serpent.

"Isn't it funny, Draco? You've never really had friends. Just subordinates. You were _too good _for them. Never fit in, just stood above them. And you get this Mark. And you think you finally belong. But you don't really. Because you're not good _enough_," I chuckle and show him my forearm. His brow furrows as he studies my blank skin.

"Where is it? How'd you get rid of it? Is there a spell?" he turns around and looks up at me seriously, firing these questions at me in rapid succession. "Can you show me?"

"I never got one, Draco," I say softly, looking at this boy curiously. Another stitch of Draco Malfoy comes undone. He's finally opened his eyes and seen what he is in the middle of. He knows what is expected of him on our side of this War. His conscience is either tugging at him or he is too weak to do what he must. He doesn't want to be Voldemort's puppet but he's too cowardly to tell his father. There is no where for him to turn so he continues to fall. Now this boy is groping desperately for a parachute inches from the ground, still tumbling down.

He can't go to Harry and his merry band of fools: They hate him and he has done nothing to deserve redemption. I know that some part of them would try to fix me. I suspect that I would even be welcomed back to 'rehabilitation' with open arms and a trusting heart. Ridiculous. Draco hasn't really done anything of note. He hasn't killed anyone. He certainly isn't the one striking down members of the Order like the hand of God. I have killed people they love; that I once loved. But still they would take me back gratefully. It is this that will be the death of Harry. He will never understand that he can not 'save' me.

They would accept me but turn away a confused, white haired child who hasn't even dreamt of the things I've done, let alone performed the acts himself. There is no inherent Dark in Draco. That Mark on his arm couldn't make it so.

"I haven't got one," I tell him, stroking his hair. "And not just because it's hardly the most aesthetically pleasing thing to smear on your skin. Understand: I don't need one. I had friends. I did fit in. And I was better than them. And look where it got me."

His face registers everything that I am saying and I know he hates me for it. I command respect from those so Dark he hasn't even heard of it. This white blond, Pureblood whipping boy.

I return my attention back to his ribbon, tying it neatly in a drooping bow. "There, beautiful," I purr, coming close to his ear. I look at us both in the mirror and smile at him. "I've changed my mind. You look more like your mother," I whisper, drawing my fingernail along his jaw. "_She_ is beautiful… I wonder if you taste like her," I hiss, brushing my lips across his cheek. I smirk at his shocked reflection and turn towards the door, and to the party below.

"Come now, Draco," I taunt him, knowing the expression on his face before looking. "People are waiting."


End file.
